THE HUNTER’S LIFE 
9 
leaves, now and then flashing from the gleaming 
ivory of the Titanic monsters, as they tossed 
their stupendous heads. A cascade of blue and 
scarlet flowers tumbles from a creeper near by 
and lies trampled in my path, etc., etc.’ These 
things may impress the mind subconsciously, but 
they are utterly irrelevant to the hunter at a 
critical moment, and such descriptions, however 
much they may appeal to some minds, I have 
studiously avoided in my narrative, because to 
me they seem out of place. The run of my 
thoughts is generally : ‘ Will he give me a 
heart shot, or a brain shot ? If I wound him 
will he bolt or will he charge? If he charges— 
well, it is the old duel over again, the duel that 
I have fought successfully up till now. This time 
my luck may turn. He may finish my career— 
well, what of it? I am here to take his life— 
all’s fair in war. There is no time for “ past 
regrets or future fears.” ’ If I fail to drop him 
and he charges, all excitement vanishes. I ex¬ 
perience no shadow of fear. During the actual 
tracking there is always a lively sense of danger 
—I can hardly call it fear—but now none at all, 
and I can only describe my mental state at such 
a moment as a brain working at white heat 
without a trace of emotion. 
Fortune may favour me and enable me to bag 
